


Fifteen Minutes Late with a Meet Cute

by songofthe52hertzwhale



Category: Dalton Academy Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 00:14:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19414453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songofthe52hertzwhale/pseuds/songofthe52hertzwhale
Summary: Thoughts during freshman orientation





	Fifteen Minutes Late with a Meet Cute

**Author's Note:**

> Dialogue belongs to Miss CP Coulter

Logan Wright seems to have a reputation from the very moment he steps into Orion Hall for freshman orientation. He’s not sure how people know of him already, but he catches a few side-eying him as he takes his seat, watches as the other Stuarts pointedly avoid the empty chair to his right. Having Derek here is an absolute blessing -- someone who somehow still like him, even after years of being apart, someone who doesn’t bat an eye at sitting beside the tempestuous blonde. He’s sure the next four years are bound to be a bore. He can’t believe his father had sent him to boarding school in nowhere, Ohio, that he’s cursed to spend the next four years surrounded by the likes of the Brightman twins.

Just as he’s musing over this, the sound of the door slamming open sends half the students looking around. Logan doesn’t bother following their gazes -- he’s looking around the room himself, taking stock of the student body. Nobody really sticks out to him, nobody gives off the initial impression of being thrilling whatsoever.

“Seat taken?”

The words are near enough Logan knows they’re addressed to him -- to the only student nearby with an empty seat beside him. He glances upward, hears the faint murmurings following the new boy. 

“ _ Hey, isn’t that...?” _ _   
_ _   
_ __ “The movie star?”

_ “What the  _ hell _?” _

_ “He’s late… _ ”

Logan smirks. Of course he recognizes Julian Larson, even with the oversized sunglasses perched on his face. He’s clearly not dressed in uniform, is wearing a plain white shirt unbuttoned too far and a set of slacks that clearly aren’t Dalton regulation. His blazer is the right shade of navy, but Logan sees the Armani logo on the tag as Julian rolls it off his shoulders and throws it over the empty chair.

“Nice entrance,” Derek snorts from beside him. Logan can hear the slight note of approval in his voice. Derek’s always found dramatics just a little interesting.

“I slept in,” Julian says, swinging his legs over the chair, “But it looks like I might be getting more sleep in here.”

He glances up at the stage, eyes the row of teachers and administrators still waiting to give a speech.

“You’re going to have to get used to this kind of thing,” Logan says, his eyes not leaving the actor. He’s got  _ very _ nice features, sharp cheekbones and full lips curved into a rather impressive pout.

“Oh, prep school veteran?” Julian turns to him, lowering his sunglasses just enough to reveal honey-brown eyes, “Or just used to boring political speeches?”

Logan can’t help but grin, a little surprised at the recognition. He’s used to it from DC diplomats, of course, but to hear it from a peer, from someone who’s  _ not _ using him to climb up the political ladder -- it’s different.

“The latter,” he says, “Unsurprisingly, those speeches get even more sanctimonious at home. But are they any better than endless awards show speeches?”

Those pink lips curve into a smirk, “Tough call.”

If Logan didn’t know better, he’d say there’s almost a note of  _ flirtation _ in those words, that Julian’s eyes are raking up his body the same way Logan’s had. His eyes linger on Julian a moment longer. Unlike the others, Julian doesn’t seem to be put off by him. He’s staring back just as solidly, that same smirk on his face.

It’s not until Dean Winters taps at the microphone that Julian turns away, relaxing back in his seat and spreading his legs out before him. He looks effortlessly relaxed, splayed out like he doesn’t give a care in the world.

There’s something about him that seems familiar, almost. Something that has Logan wanting to learn more. He’s not instantly irritated with Julian, the way he is with most of the other boys. He’s different, somehow.

_ Interesting _ .

_ Very interesting _ _. _

.

Julian knows he’s late. He’d set his alarm, of course, but had elected to snooze another half hour before he bothered to get up. He’s not really interested in wearing the poly-blend uniform hanging in his closet just yet, chooses to pull on similar pieces instead. The slacks are close enough, and the blazer’s the right color, albeit without the gaudy piping on the collar. 

He briefly debates swinging by Starbucks on his way in, setting the tone of his high school career with a grand entrance and an iced latte. But he’s not strictly speaking legal to drive yet, is still too young for his license despite the midnight blue Bentley his father had sent ahead for him. 

Still, he draws enough attention when he bursts through the doors. Half the students turn, and Julian can hear the whispers follow him as he strolls down the row to the Stuart section. He can feel the eyes on him, pointedly ignores the muffled exclamations of recognition. There’s one empty seat left at the aisle, beside a boy with golden blonde hair.

“Seat taken?” He asks. He doesn’t bother waiting for an answer, tosses his blazer over the back of the chair as the blonde boy turns to look at him. 

His breath hitches.

He covers it quickly enough with a lazy stretch of his arms as he sits, is grateful for the darkness of his sunglasses as he stares at the blonde. He’s absolutely  _ stunning _ , with piercing green eyes and an amused smirk. Exactly Julian’s type. Unofficially, at least.

“Nice entrance,” says the boy next to the blonde, and Julian shrugs.

“I slept in. But it looks like I might be getting more sleep in here.”

He glances up at the stage, can feel the boredom setting in already as he takes in the row of teachers lining the stage.

“You’re going to have to get used to this kind of thing,” the blonde says, and  _ god _ , his voice is just as beautiful as his face.

“Oh, prep school veteran?” Julian turns to look at him fully, and finally realizes why he looks somewhat familiar -- he’d seen him on television once, standing beside a New York Senator as he gave a speech on Capitol Hill, “Or just used to boring political speeches?”

The blonde looks amused at having been recognized, “The latter. Unsurprisingly, those speeches get even more sanctimonious at home. But are they any better than endless awards show speeches?”

He’s  _ smiling _ , those green eyes twinkling.

“Tough call,” Julian says, not bothering to hide the way he’s eyeing the blonde. 

He’s always had a weakness for beautiful people, and the Senator’s son is  _ very _ beautiful. Julian finds his eyes drifting to the side throughout the boring speeches that make up orientation, catches sight of those green eyes doing the same more than once.

Maybe this whole  _ school _ thing won’t be so bad after all.


End file.
